(Note: Goal Wednesday obviously did l not return yesterday as scheduled. Look for it next week; I hope to be done with my trip report by then.)
Let’s see, where were we? At a hotel near the airport in Seattle on a Friday night, I believe. Saturday morning we drove up to my sister-in-law Kathy’s house where family and friends were gathered for the pre-graduation festivities. The weather was quite cooperative; I wasn’t entirely sure about an outdoor ceremony in the land of rain and drizzle, but if anything it was too sunny and warm—I got quite glowy walking the several blocks to the stadium from the house. (Of course I did this in not the most sensible shoes ever, but I knew these would be okay as I had once walked in them from New York New York to Treasure Island down the Las Vegas Strip.) The ceremony was unexpectedly enlivened by a groundskeeper deciding to mow the grass on the other side of the field; what the heck he was thinking I do not know, but he kept whizzing around, the mower engine noise bouncing off the concrete stands, until finally a school official left his graduation duties and walked across the field and talked to Mr. Clueless. Our graduate graduated, we all made our way back to the house for more festivities.
The graduate got his share of attention, but the co-star of the weekend was baby Joan, four months old, the first grandchild, great-grandchild, great-niece, or niece for a lot of the people in attendance. She was perfectly charming, rarely objecting to anything as she was passed from person to person, all of us falling under the spell of her big blue eyes. (And the eyelashes, oh my goodness, the eyelashes. I don’t think even that Latisse stuff that Brooke Shields wants me to buy and the best Dior mascara available would give me eyelashes like baby Joan’s.) On Sunday, we gathered on the deck for her christening, performed by Dale. She wore the same dress her mother had worn.
At some point during the weekend, it came time to eat the graduation cake. Those of you who followed the link yesterday know that when the last nephew graduated, the frosting roses on the cake were the subject of some friendly competition between Joan and me. This time, she and I had to vie for them with an aunt on the other side of the family, and there were only two roses on the whole cake, just like last time. Did I briefly consider sneaking the roses off the cake early? No, of course not. We were all adults and shared, getting two-thirds of a rose each. Next event, though, I may bring my own frosting—roses for everyone, on everything!
In the next installment, Mr. Karen and I hit the road with Dale and Joan and lots of luggage.
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